


Bleak Past, Bleak Future

by CMHolden



Series: Riftdale - Line One [6]
Category: Benjaminutes - Fandom, The Riftdale Chronicles (Web Series)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-07
Updated: 2018-10-08
Packaged: 2019-06-06 12:00:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 4,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15194339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CMHolden/pseuds/CMHolden





	1. Fleeing is Now a Second Nature

Christian moved the car into reverse, driving backwards up the street. One car went skidding in front of him, causing a blockade for him against the police. He reversed up an adjacent street, before putting it in first and fanging it. The car squealed like a pig with its head stuck in a vice.  Bart held onto the panic bar, his shoulder slamming into the window. Christian switched up the gears, the sirens slowly disappearing as he out ran them. He took random turns to try and lose them for good. The car’s fuel light flickered at him. He pulled over in a near empty parking lot. He ran a cloth over the steering wheel.

“Bart, get moving.”

“I think my arm’s broken…”

“I didn’t ask. Go.” Bart whimpered, undoing his seatbelt and grabbing his bag. Christian grabbed his, taking out a bottle of kerosene, squirting it through the car. He took a packet of matches, lighting a few and threw them in. The car was ingulfed in seconds.

“Move, Bart.” Christian said, pushing him forward. Bart let out a yelp, holding his shoulder. Christian lead them into an abandoned building, cutting through it to move quickly through the streets. He broke into an empty-but-definitely-owned-house, dumping his bag on the ground.

“That was the closest one yet…” he muttered, flopping his crusty ass onto the white couch. Bart sobbed.

“Christian… please… I need to see a doctor.”

“Don’t be a baby, you’re fine.”

“Christian, really. Please.” Bart breath was fast and shallow, his face pale and his eyes unfocused. Christian rolled his eyes, looking at the shoulder.

“It’s not broken. It’s dislocated. I can fix this.”

“Christian, no. Please… Just drop me off at the hospital… I might still be on my parents’ insurance… unlikely but… I might be…”

“Shut up. Hold the door frame,” Christian demanded, looking through his bag. Bart whimpered, doing as he was told.

“Hold it higher.” Bart did as he was told. He felt a pinch in his neck, followed by the sensation of something flowing into him.

“W-what’s that…?” he asked. He felt light headed. He felt… tired. He felt Christian push on his shoulder. He heard the click. He felt the world spin around him, and he felt Christian put an arm around him. He watched the wall turn into the roof, looking at Christian from the bottom of his jaw. Christian dragged him to a chair.

“Sleep it off, princess.”

Bart felt the world fade away, enveloped in the softness of the chair.


	2. Bank of Old Relations

Bart awoke, groggy and stiff. He heard clicking as Christian set up his gun.

“Morning Princess,” he said. Bart sat up in his seat.

“Y-you drugged me…”

“I assumed you didn’t want to feel me put your shoulder back together,” Christian grumbled as he checked his ammo. Bart looked down at the injured shoulder. Some time while he was asleep, it had been bandaged and put in a sling.

“C’mon. We have shit to do.”

\---

Bart went into the bank. Relatively busy. A girl with butterscotch hair smiled at him in line. He gave a nervous nod back. God, please don’t let her die today. Please don’t let anyone die today. Security was no where in sight. He sent Christian a text. Christian came in shortly after. He fired twice into the roof, causing a panic.

“Do as I say, or you’re all having close caskets!” he said. Bart got down on the floor. Most others followed suit.

“Hands where I can see them! No panic alarms!” he shouted, pointing the gun at the teller woman. He held out a bag for her to fill. The girl with butterscotch hair slowly stood. Bart whimpered. She would play the hero. She would die.

“… Chrissie?” her voice was soft and sweet. Christian glared at her. His eye flicked with recognition. He took the filled bag and grabbed her arm, pointing a gun to her head.

“No one follows, or the girl gets it. You, follow me,” he gestured to Bart. Bart tremblingly followed him. The girl was thrown in the back seat. Christian locked her in before getting in the drivers. Bart climbed in and just managed to buckle his seat belt before Christian went tearing off down the street.

“Chrissie! What’s happening?!”

“Shut up! And don’t call me that!”

“D-do you two know each other.”

The girl’s eyes filled with tears.

“He’s my brother.”


	3. The Bleak Past

The car was parked behind an old chapel, Christian dragging both hostages into the basement.

“Chrissie, please. Talk to me. What’s happening?”

“Shut up! Sit in the corner, for the love of God,” Christian belted, pointing the gun in her general direction. He took out his phone, tapping at the keys.

“No signal… Bart, don’t let her leave.” He took his phone upstairs. The girl sniffed.

“…I’m sorry about him… he was never like this when we were younger.”

“Really?” Bart pulled a coat out of his bag and draped it over her shoulders.

“Yeah,” she nodded, wiping her eyes, “I mean, he was always a troublemaker. Set more than one nun on fire while being Choirboy. But… he just got worse after Mum died.”

“… Oh. So… He actually believed in God at one point?” Bart asked, rubbing her shoulder. She nodded.

“Why do you think he became a priest?”

“I thought it was just a costume.”

“Oh.” She leaned into Bart’s hold.

“…What was he like? Before?”

\---

He was never the kindest of people. He used to pull pranks in the school halls and steal sweets occasionally. But he still went to Church every Sunday and prayed before bed every night. I used to tell him God would be mad he was doing all of these bad things.

“What does it matter, Liss? I pray away the sin every night, so it’s like it never happened.”

After Mum died, he slowly slipped. It started with skipping Church and playing hooky, but then he stopped praying at night. He came home drunk a few nights a week. Then he’d start showing up off his head on the Lord knows what. We didn’t see him much after that. There were signs he’d been in. Things would be moved around, and his clothes would be taken from his drawers and dirty ones in the wash basket. His soap would have less in it some mornings. I caught him making a sandwich late one night.

“Go back to bed Liss,” he said.

“…Are you going to bed too?”

“I’m going out.”

“Will you be back soon?”

“Probably not.”

“Dad’ll be mad if he realises you left.”

“Brian wouldn’t notice if I showed up violently mutilated on the front doorstep. Go back to bed.”

And with that, he left. He didn’t come home for three days. So, I went looking for him.

\---

“Wow…” Bart mumbled, “you really looked up to him, huh?”

“After Mum died… Dad was busy… he couldn’t look after us… so most nights it was just me and Christian… I didn’t like being alone…”

\---

I knew where to find him. There was a place up by Hanging Girl’s Cliff where a lot of teenagers went to sin. I went up one night after Dad for the bar. He was there with some of the usual people.

“Whoo-wee! What’s this little thing doing here~?” called a boy named Jack. He came over, pulling me close to his side. He was stronger than me, so I couldn’t get away.

“Let me go!” I cried. One of the girls, I think her name was Birdie, stood up and came over.

“What’s your name, kid?”

“…Felicity?” Christian came over from behind the trees. He wiped his sleeve across his nose.

“She one of yours, Snow White?” Jack asked, “I’m not one for sloppy seconds, but I wouldn’t mind a tag team~”

“She’s 12 you creep,” Christian grabbed my arm and pulled me close.

“I thought she was at least 16~”

“You know damn well she’s not the same age as us.” Christian pulled me to the side, “What the hell are you doing here.”

“You need to come home. Dad’s been really sick lately.”

“Alcoholism isn’t a disease, Liss. He’s hungover. Give him two Panadol.”

“He scares me. Please… Come home. He’s not as bad when you’re around.”

“He’s not as bad to you. From my perspective, he’s great right now. If he gives you problems, go to Mrs McGrady’s. She’ll look after you.”

“Why make her leave?” asked Jack, “She can hang~”

“… Look at her, she’s in her nightgown.”

“I am looking~”

“Don’t be gross Jack,” Birdie called, “He’s only joking hun. Come sit with us by the fire. I have a spare coat.”

“By that, she means she’s going to steal one of mine,” said another man, coming out of a van.

“Duh, Bill. Where else would I get a jacket?”

“Yeah, Bill. It’s your only redeeming quality,” Christian said, pulling me over to sit between him and Birdie. Bill playfully hit his shoulder, passing him a lighter. Birdie placed a coat over my shoulders. Christian lit a cigarette, sitting forward so the smoke wouldn’t blow in my face. People came and went, some doing drugs, others just drinking. I stayed curled up in Christian’s side.

“Bill, mind if I stick Liss in the van?”

“Go ahead. Just put the front seat back.” Christian took me to the van, putting the front passenger seat all the way back and helping me up.

“Will you pray with me?”

“… I’ll sit here while you do it.”

He tucked me in under the coat, locking the door as he left. The next morning, I woke up in my bed. Christian was in his bed. He had a great big bruise on his eye and dried blood on his upper lip. He never told me how he got them.


	4. The Church

“Look, just bring me like… 5 bottles of Sin-esteja… Maybe 6… Fuck it, just bring me a case. I’ll try and sell what I don’t use,” Christian said as he opened the door. He held a gun to the head of an elderly man with one hand while talking on the phone with the other.

“Father!” cried Felicity, standing to help him up as he fell down the stairs. The older man held on her.

“Oh, dear child. That man has you too!”

“It’s Christian.”

“Christian?! Oh… I knew he had fallen from the Lord’s Grace… But I had no idea how far.”

“So… you know him too?”

“Indeed, he used to come to me in his hours of need.”

\---

When his mother died, Christian would spend more time at the altars. He once spent a whole Sunday after church, sitting in the pews.

“Hello, Christian,” I said, sitting next to him, “I see you put your name down as an altar boy. Why did you change your mind?”

“… Mom asked me to.”

“… You miss her, don’t you?”

“If you tell me this is a blessing in disguise, I will replace all the candles with $2 ones from the store.”

I chuckled softly, “All I’m saying is… This is your chance to strengthen your bond with God.”

\---

He did become an altar boy for a while, and he was one of the most dedicated we had. But by his 15th birthday, he began to stray again. While he would still come to Church, he stopped being an altar boy. He stopped coming to church. I lost contact with him for nearly two years. I came into the church late one night to find him kneeling in the pews.

“Christian.”

“Father! I’m sor-”

“Do not fret my child… You are safe in the house of God now,” I said. He nodded, slumping into the seat. “What is troubling you Christian?”

“… I did… something wrong… I came… here because it was the only place I could think of.”

“The Lord’s arms are always open to you, son. Tell me what’s happened.”

“… This is… kinda something I wanna keep between me and the big man…”

I couldn’t happen but chuckle. He stayed there the night, quiet in pensive thought. I came back the next morning to begin preparation for Mass. He was still there.

“Father… how do I go about joining the Church?”

\---

“Wait… so he’s actually a priest?” Bart asked.

“Technically, yes. No Church in a 50-mile radius will let him preach. But he does have all the qualifications.”

“So… Now what?”

“I’m going to try to reason with him,” said the Father, standing.

“Only do that if you plan on meeting God in person seconds later. He’s shot every person that’s tried so far.”

“… Oh dear. If only his mother was still alive. She could always get through to him.”

“He got really bad after Dad sent him to that horrible camp,” said Felicity, crossing her arms, listening as Christian paced above them.

 


	5. Like Father, Like Son

Christian got caught making out with a guy under the bleachers during a pep rally. Dad had him sent to a gay camp. It didn’t really work as expected though. It only took three days for him to basically make out with most of the guys there. Dad wasn’t happy when he got back.

“They put a bunch of dudes who like dudes in cabins and expected nothing? I don’t see how it’s my fault that they’re stupid,” Christian said and he stormed ahead of dad. Dad shouted back at him about how he was a disappointment to mom. Christian slammed the door and locked it. By the time dad got it open, he’d already disappeared out the window. That was the start of him not coming home.

\---

“Wow… So wait… This timeline is confusing…” Bart pushed his hair back.

“It might be a little jumbled. To be fair, this was all around 10 years ago.” Felicity looked at her feet. Christian came down.

“…Getting a bit cosy there, Bart?”

Bart removed his arm from Felicity’s shoulder and shuffled over a little. A gun cocked behind Christian.

“Get away from my daughter, you bastard.”

“Hello, Brian.” Christian’s voice was calm and unfazed. “As you can see, Bart has already moved away from her.”

“I don’t know what you were thinking, showing up here of all places. Did you wanna spit on your mother’s grave while you were at it?”

“Wanted to see if you were in yours yet.” Christian turned to face his father. “Disappointing to see you’re still kicking.”

“I already called the cops. You think you’ll get away with this?”

“You haven’t been able to stop me yet.” Christian raised his gun to match his father’s.

“You kill your mother, now you’ve come for me.”

“She had cancer, you prick.”

“You’re cancer on this family.”

“Dad!” cried Felicity.

“No, Liss, you gotta pay him that one, it was pretty good. One problem though. He already kicked me out. Join them, Brian. Go sit down and wait like a good boy.”

“I’ll be damned if I listen to you.”

“Suit yourself.”

 

_BANG._


	6. This is not fun

Bart let out a squeak. He felt the warm blood trickle down his shoulder. He moved away from Felicity.

“Oh my god…” she whispered, “That would have gone through my head…”

A loud thud emanated through the small room as Brian fell down the stairs, gasping for air. Christian leaned against the stairwell wall, holding his arm.

“Bart?”

“I-I…”

Christian came down the stairs, leaning in to look at him.

“That’s not good.”

“H-how bad is it?”

“Don’t look.”

Three people in dark sunglasses, black suits and red ties entered. One carried a case of what appeared to be orange juice bottles with the label peeled off. He handed the case to Christian.

“Just hand it out and give me the rest,” he snarled, holding a dirty handkerchief to Bart’s shoulder. The man nodded, handing out the juice. Another started applying pressure to Brian’s chest. Christian took the rest of the case and helped Bart up.

“He says you need to lay low Christian. This one’s going to take more effort that the least.”

“Tell him to cram it.”

“Need I remind you, his patience runs thin.”

“Whatever. I’ll lay low.” He put an arm around Bart, helping him up the stairs and dumping him in the backseat of the Father’s car.

“Chrissie!” Felicity called as she raced over. Christian looked up, sighing softly.

“Go back inside Felicity.”

“Please… don’t go again. Just come back… please…”

“Liss… I can’t. You know as well as I do.”

“Why not?”

“Not sure if you noticed, but I just shot the guy who created us.”

“You’ll escape. You always do.”

“I know. Go drink your juice, Liss. I’ll… come back after everything calms down.”

“Do you promise?”

“…I will if you drink your juice.”

Felicity held her brother close. A warm arm wrapped around her shoulders.

“Go drink your juice, Liss.”

He let her go, climbing into the driver’s seat. He hot wired the car and drove off.


	7. B&B

“Bill? Yeah, it’s me. No, no, that’s already being taken care of. I need Somewhere to lie low for a while. … Yeah… Yeah, that’d be great, thanks.”

Christian hung up, driving carefully.

“Christian…”

“Keep applying pressure Bart, we’ll be there soon.”

“I feel really bad…”

“I know, just hold on…”

\---

A man came up to the car as Christian pulled up. He said something, to which Christian responded. Someone else came over and began unbuckling him. Bart tried to see who it was through the thick fog of exhaustion. The man talking to Christian came and picked Bart up as if he weighed nothing. He was warm and smelt of burnt metal. He carried Bart up several stairs before lying him on a table.

“Talk to me, kid. What’s your name?” he asked, turning his back to Bart.”

“B-bartholom-mew…”

“Well, mind if I just call you ‘Mew?”

“M-most just call me Bart…”

“Whatever.”

Bart heard shuffling, followed by a thug and a very angry Christian grunt.

“Don’t bitch, bub,” said a woman’s voice.

“Bite me.”

“Now now, I’m a taken woman Christian. You’re gonna have to ask Bill~”

“Shut up, Birdie, just stitch him up.” The man came back over to Bart. “Keep talking kid, don’t want to lose you.”

“A-am I gonna die?”

“Hope not.”

Another pinch-and inject in Bart’s arm. Followed by a soft tugging.

“… You ok Ba- ah, fuck Bird!” Christian hollowed.  The woman laughed. “Why does he get numbing shit?!”

“Something tells me it wasn’t his fault, boo~”

“Fuck you Birdie. Bart?”

“…I-I feel… weird… I don’t like it…”

“We’ll have you right as rain kiddo, just gotta hang in there,” the man said. There was a soft snip by his arm, followed by it being wrapped.

“Go get‘em some juice, babe,” he said softly. Birdie left, Christian sighing. Bart looked up at the ceiling.

“I’m sorry, Christian.”

“What for?”

“… I kinda tackled your sister.”

“… Bart, she would have fucking _died_ if you didn’t. I gotta piss.” And with that, the stomping shuffle of a drug-addicted priest moved towards the door.

“… You met Liss?” the man asked.

“Y-yeah… A-are you… Bill?”

“She mentioned me?”

“… Yeah. S-she told me about… how Christian was when he was younger.”

“Wanna hear it from the side of someone who knows he’s an utter dick?”

“… Yes please.”


	8. In Chronological Order, My Dear.

Christian is not a person who trusts easily. There are three people I know for certain that have gained his trust in the past. His mother, his sister and Jack. Liss looked up to Christian as if he was some hero. No matter what he did, she looked up to him.

I met Christian in our classes. We started playing hookie a few days a week, and slowly we just stopped going. At first we’d just go and throw rocks in the lake. Then we stole booze from our parents. Some guy sold us drugs, and we went further and further down.

Jack ended up joining us. He was a couple months older that me, and he gave Christian a quick access to drugs. They got caught under the bleachers at school on one of the few days he went. Christian’s dad got really pissed and sent him to a gay camp. By that point, I was pretty much in control of myself, so I signed up to join.

“All I’m saying is they didn’t think this through. You’re putting a bunch of horny teenagers in a room all night together, and expect none of them to make out in the night?”

Christian caused a lot of trouble in that camp. Any time he was caught making out with a dude, he’d be put in solidary confinement. It didn’t seem to bother him at all. He got out after making out with a few of the bi girls in for lesbianism. I got myself out by writing a dirty letter to Birdie, saying my parents put me in because I kept my room too clean, or some other bullshit like that.

The next few months were pretty quiet. We did our normal bullshit, smoking, drinking and drugs. Christian got the nickname Snow White for obvious reasons. Jack would supply him and keep him off his head.

Liss showed up one night. The softest I’d ever seen him was with his sister. After she went to sleep, he sat on the van to make sure she was safe. Some of the addicts were people we didn’t know very well. Jack made a few… unsavoury comments about Liss. Christian broke his nose for it, but Jack got a few hits of his own in. I drove Christian home, so he could put Liss in a proper bed.

Their friendship became rougher. I’m pretty certain that Christian would have gotten rid of him sooner if he wasn’t his dealer. It went downhill fast when Jack became a rat.

Christian spotted the fuzz, so we had time to scatter. We went down to Jack’s favourite hiding spot to confront him. Took Jack 30 seconds to confess. I had never seen Christian so angry before. Sure, I’d seen him fly off the handle and kick the shit out of someone, but not like he did then. Betrayal is the worst thing you can do in Christian’s mind, and seeing as Jack had already made several passes at Liss? He was done for before Christian even laid the first punch.

Jack bought out his gun to tell Christian to back off, but at this point all he could see was red. He took the gun and shot Jack. Square in the temple. He didn’t have a chance of survival. We threw him over the cliff.

Christian turned to the church and tried to clean up his act. He finished his priest training and lasted about 3 months of priesthood before he came crawling to me. It was kind of a dick move, but I offered him something to take the edge off.

He disappeared from the church and began scamming people for a living. He still calls me whenever he needs some heavy lifting done or his coke supply’s running low. That’s really the last I know.

 


	9. Bleak Future

“Nice storytelling, Bill,” Christian stood at the door with a scowl on his face. Bart jumped, bill letting out a soft chuckle.

“What? It’s not like it’s going to matter.”

“That doesn’t mean you should go telling people shit.”

“… Stop being a drama queen, bub. Give him the juice.” Bill helped Bart sit, Christian handing him a large glass of juice.

“You gotta drink it all Bart,” Christian said

“What, why?”

“You lost a lot of blood, kid. You’re gonna be low on sugars,” Bill answered quickly. Bart nodded, sipping at the drink. While the initial taste was very orangey, there was a hint of… a hint of…

A hint of what?

Bart found himself growing sleepy.

“Finished your juice?” asked Bill. Bart nodded, handing over the glass. Bill picked him up off the table, carrying him out to a bed. He carefully tucked him in, taking his shoes off for him. Bart slowly drifted in and out of consciousness.

“Ch-Christian?”

“…What is it, Bart?”

“… You scare the shit out of me…”

“As I should.”

“…Your sister’s nice though.”

“…Yeah? What about her?”

“She’s… really… Sweet… she… keeps you in her mind.” Bart’s words became more and more incoherent.

“…She’s a good kid. Goodnight, Bart.”

Bart let out a soft mumble.

\---

“So… what was in that glass? Because that cup had much more juice than out juice bottles,” asked Bill, making a crude coca paste in a mortar and pestle.

“… Sin-esteja and orange juice. And something to knock him out. You got anything made now?” Christian asked, clawing at his neck. Bill passed a leaf.

“Chew on that, it’ll take the edge off for a bit.”

Christian popped it in his mouth, sighing softly.

“.. Can’t help but notice you didn’t put yourself in the trusted list, Bill.”

“I don’t like to presume.”

“… I wouldn’t have gotten you to dispose of four bodies for me if I didn’t.”

“…Thanks. For what it’s worth, I trust you too.”

“…Thanks, Bill.”

“Go to sleep, you crack-hobo.”

“I know you are, but what am I?”

“A filthy drug slut.”

“I know you are, but what am I?”

“Something your mother should have swallowed.”

“I know you are, but wh-”

“Oh my god!” said Birdie, coming up from under the table, “Ladies, ladies, you both look gorgeous. Christian, go to bed.”

“Of course, goodnight Slutty McHeroine, Speedy-gone-dealer.” Christian mocked a salute as he headed to bed.


End file.
